Severed Shadows
by kaljara
Summary: Tilly Lovec was Allison Argent's guardian from the time that they were small. But protecting Allison meant keeping secrets, and it led to a falling out between the two friends that was never resolved. After Allison's death, Tilly travels to Beacon Hills in order to avenge her friend, wary of the McCall pack and an unruly beta named Brett as she tries to follow Allison's new Code.S4
1. Chapter 1

Severed Shadows

Prologue

_Sometimes when I look outside, the world doesn't look how_

_I remember it. Everything's the same-the sky, the earth, _

_the sunshine on water, the way people laugh-but it is_

_not the same. It hurts to think that it's not so much the world_

_that's changed forever...it's me. How could I have not known?_

_Did I really wish to be normal so badly that I made myself _

_blind to everything? I don't know what's real anymore, and_

_that scares me. Are we all living a lie, or am I a lie that's living?_

- **written by Allison Argent, one week after finding out**

**about the supernatural**

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There are two little girls on a lonely merry-go-round in a desolate park, and one of them is crying. Her scraped knee is bleeding and doesn't hurt too badly-it is the shock of the fall that makes tears leak from her eyes. It is the surprise. At seven years old, both girls are wise enough to know to stay away from strangers, to watch each others' backs always. They are practically sisters, after all. They can come here alone if they please. The bleeding one sniffles her discomfort, and the other-the one with the sharp blue eyes and nimble fingers-casts a wary look behind her. There is a boy with blonde curls and luminous eyes playing in the sandbox a few feet away, humming to himself. The sharp-eyed girl's companion can't see it, or ignores it if she can, but every so often, the boy's eyes flash golden in the sunlight. She tends to her friend's knee and continues to scowl, feeling the boy, the _creature_ staring at her. She's been charged to protect her friend. And that is why, when her mother says, scoldingly, "Matilda, what on earth happened to Allison's leg?", the little girl just shrugs and says they tripped over one another while playing tag. Her friend affirms this notion with a nod. But, of course, the sharp-eyed little Hunter girl knows the truth-she pushed her best friend while they were running, afraid that the creature behind them would lunge. She was trying to keep Allison safe, not make her fall. She had wanted her to run faster.

She lies to her mother out of shame, more than anything else. She's supposed to be the Argent girl's protector, but so far, she is a failure.

There are two girls walking along a rickety bridge under the shade of Californian redwoods, and one of them is laughing. She is the innocent one of the two, the one who has the blood of a predator but was never given the training to act on her instincts. She is the better of the two, her less innocent friend knows. They are eleven, and eleven is the age of first crushes and middle school and awkward growth spurts. The girl with the sharp blue eyes tells her friend that she needs to get away from the edge of the bridge, but she's smirking while she says it, like it's a lie. She has been trained in every art of defense, and lying, out of all of them, is her specialty. She is a wolf hiding in sheepskin, but in this story, it is not to lure in her prey. It is simply to protect her own, to find a semblance of normalcy. She teeters near the edge of the bridge after her friend, always watching and observing and waiting. Because there is always something to wait for. It might come suddenly, or eventually, but it will come, and those who wait are prepared. So the sharp-eyed girl waits, and when one of the rotten boards of the bridge snaps and falls into the water below, she is prepared. But her bright-eyed, easy-grinning, lovely-hearted friend is not.

'_Watch out for Allison, Tilly. Allison Argent must be protected at all costs. Allison is your main priority, do you understand?Make sure she knows nothing of monsters. She's too delicate far too delicate don't let her seetheworldasitis-'_

The murmurs rush together as she watches her friend plummet over the side of the bridge, and she doesn't think-she does just as she was trained. She throws herself down on her stomach just in time to catch her friend's hand. Just in time to see the look of absolute terror make her pupils blow wide. Just in time to save her. And isn't that what this is all about, anyways? Saving her best friend, again and again and again, in different ways every time. It is the life she leads, and she would not have it any other way. Would she?

When the sharp-eyed girl hauls her trembling friend back onto the solid bridge and wraps her arms around the other girl, sighing in relief, she thinks, no, she would not.

There are two teenage girls sitting out on a patio in the summer heat of San Francisco, and one of them is yelling.

"Lied to me again, Tilly!" she is saying, and the sharp-eyed girl watches her friend fume. She is silent. She knows she deserves this. She knows that this fight is inevitable, like all things. She has been waiting for it even before she knew she was waiting. She is all ears and understanding as words are thrown at her like weapons, daggers that pierce her very soul. Coming from anyone else, they would be tolerable, expected, even. But coming from the good-natured, clueless, wonderfully alive friend of hers-they are poison of the worst kind. And because she is designed for battle, she throws her own poison right back, and regrets it instantly. But it is too late. It is always too late for her.

She doesn't remember the words said later, because she blocked them out almost immediately after the conversation ended, but the last thing her friend ever said to her was this:

"You're unknowable. Who are you? So many lies, so many broken promises-are you just one yourself?"

And it haunts her in the worst ways imaginable, and it is all she allows herself to remember about the fight that ended their friendship. Everything else she tucks away, because these words alone are enough to punish her, to damn her.

She was charged with keeping her best friend safe, but only a few days before her sixteenth birthday, everything comes undone once and for all.

The would-not-be-a-Hunter girl's family packs up and leaves San Francisco in one night.

She does not get to say goodbye.

There is one girl lying on her rooftop, and she is inexplicably alone. The stars over her head are dull, and the chasm in her chest yawns with every breath. She feels incomplete, but she guesses that's what happens when one existence is forced to revolve around another. She never asked to be the guardian of a girl who should have been taught to guard herself. She was never given a choice. And if she could go back and choose her own fate, would she have picked a better one than this? Or would she have ended up so broken and angry and volatile in the end, anyways? Was it really the fault of her parents, her friend's parents, or was she destined to be the forgotten one, the protector whose charge had disappeared?

She doesn't know. She honestly doesn't understand. When the tears come, they slide down her cheeks in torrents, and she allows herself to scream and gasp and kick the roof with her bare feet until they are raw. No one can hear her. She doubts they would care if they could. She is a warrior throwing a tantrum on the roof, but she doesn't care. Those who put up a facade of strength break in the most alarming ways. She is not broken, she thinks, just on the brink of breaking. Her tears make the stars blur into a kaliedoscope of different colors, swimming above her. The world is infinite-the world is finite and fading. "Perspective is everything," her friend would remind her. But her friend is no longer here.

The sharp-eyed girl pushes herself to her feet and wobbles over to the edge of the roof. The cool breeze picks up her hair and tosses it behind her, drying her tears almost immediately. She sets her jaw and unclasps the bracelet on her wrist. Several charms jingle-one of a notched bow, one her family crest, linked together with the Argents' crest. One charm is bushel of wolfsbane. She measures the weight of the charms in her hand, feeling the years of friendship and trust unravel second by second, breath by breath. When anger finally consumes her, she flings the bracelet as far away as she can, and in the darkness, she does not see where it falls. It's better that way-she won't be able to change her mind in the morning.

The girl she is now doesn't need silly charm bracelets or someone to take care of. She doesn't need to be selfless and kind and constantly waiting. She needs to look out for herself, and herself only. She needs to harden herself, to drive innocence away. It is the only thing that will keep her alive.

Once, the name 'Matilda Lovec' was never heard without the name 'Allison Argent' right behind it.

That was once, and this, Tilly thinks, turning away from the edge of the roof, this is now.

There is one girl standing on a rooftop, and she is reborn.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: infinite is a lie

Dear Matilda,

It has been a long time since any of us have spoken. The Lovecs and the Argents have always kept close, and I find it a shame that your parents and I lost contact. That we all did. From the time the Argents left France to come to America and the Lovecs left Czechoslovakia to do the same, we vowed to protect one another.

I'm only now realizing that I put too much on your family, and instead of your protection, we were your burden. I wanted you to keep Allison ignorant, Tilly, to keep her innocent. I never once thought how it might affect your own innocence, or your friendship with my daughter.

I'm writing to you now, of all times, to apologize. And to explain. It was true that the fight that you had with Allison before we left San Francisco hurt her-I'm sure it hurt you, too. But I think, I honestly _believe_ that Allison forgave you, and maybe even forgave herself. You two were always so inseparable. Sisters at heart. I'm telling you this because Allison is gone, Tilly, and I know that this is what she would want me to say.

Allison, like you, was always a fighter. And from the time we moved to Beacon Hills uo until the time of her death, she remained strong. You helped her with that-she remembered your strength, I'm sure, and channeled it in times of need. Allison died protecting her friends, Tilly, and I know that you, like me, would be proud to know that.

I am sorry. Sorry for not making her write to you, to call you, to apologize. All she needed was a nudge, and I avoided pushing her. Maybe some desperate part of me believed it was better if she forgot you, forgot everything that happened while we were in San Francisco. I wanted her to start anew.

But you can only run from the shadows for so long before they catch up to you, and Allison had to face my shadows head on. She was a magnificent Hunter, something I never wanted her to become. She fell in love with a werewolf boy, and I didn't approve. She became a warrior, a weapon, and I was afraid. Hunting makes a person hard, and I never wanted that for Allison. But while I was so busy trying to protect her, I was pushing her away. I wonder sometimes if that is the reason you two had your falling-out-if Allison decided being sheltered wasn't worth it.

I take full blame for what happened between the two of you. For moving away, for trying to keep my daughter in the dark, for letting my wife die in my arms...I take it all.

I've come to realize, Tilly, that we cannot avoid life. I tried to side-step and it hurt everyone I loved. And I've also come to realize that the creatures that we hunt are not always monsters, despite what we are taught. Some of them are more human than even we are. Some of them are worth fighting for. I'm telling you this, Tilly, because before Allison died, she created a new Code, one I intend to follow. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves." Sound familiar? Didn't you tell her something like that years earlier when you were justifying why you got suspended for defending her? 'I protect those who need protecting.' She always did remember that, Tilly.

So now I offer you a new way of Hunting. Allison's way, based off the code she left behind. I extend this invitation before I travel to France to begin to recruit others. We need people with your spirit, Tilly, to set everything right. I understand if you pass the offer, as I'm sure your parents will. They are set in their ways, but you-you have always been ever-changing. And I believe that this might be the most difficult thing I've ever asked of you, Matilda Lovec, but it is also the most worthwhile. Allison believed in you until her last breath, and so will I.

Beacon Hills will always be open to you, if you should decide to come visit her.

I'll be sending letters that tell you the whole story, Tilly, starting with Allison's very first day in Beacon Hills. And some pages out of Allison's journal will be sent your way, too-she would want you to read them.

Sincerely,

Chris Argent

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Leaving home had never been easier than it was when I left for the last time.

My parents, of course, argued with me about my decision. But after reading Chris' letter, there was no way I could stay in San Francisco any longer. It was like I had a knife wedged between my ribcage and my heart, stabbing me at the most inconvenient moments. I couldn't walk out onto the balcony anymore and look up at the sky. I couldn't sit out in the garden with a good book. I couldn't find solace in my own mind, because every time I tried, the same three words slammed into me, over and over, like an unexpected tsunami crashing into an unguarded shore: _Allison is dead. Allison is dead. Allison is dead._

It was surreal and terrible, the worst nightmare that I could have ever dreamed up. Allison had ran far and hard to escape me, even though she had pretended that it was simply her dad's work taking her away, and yet...the anger that I had felt toward her, the resentment, had all but vanished. Time had eased the harsh feelings and left me filled with all the things that I hadn't been able to say. For months I had wanted to contact Allison, but I had been too afraid. How would she react? Had she forgiven me like I had forgiven her? Now there was no way to know, except to take Chris' word for it. And it wasn't like I didn't believe him, but I-I just really needed to hear it from Allison herself. Unfortunately, it was too late for that.

I yanked myself out of my thoughts and flipped on my turn signal. The faded sign in front of me read: Beacon Hills, 1 mi. I steeled myself against my nerves and continued on, focusing solely on the road.

The choice to come to Beacon Hills was mine and mine alone. My father had pleaded for me to reconsider, reminding me of school. My mother had scolded me, infuriated, and demanded that I remember my place in the Lovec family, remember my duties as a Hunter. I told my father that I would enroll at the nearest school. And I told my mother that if she believed my only place in the Lovec family was to be used as a weapon against people who were potentially innocent, I had no place in the family at all. Her expression had been one of pure shock, but I had kept mine cool and collected even though it had felt like the entire roof was caving in on me. It had been one of the hardest things I would ever do.

I had packed a small duffel bag and left all of the gaudy trinkets and 'important' things I had gained over the years behind. I had my clothing and the essentials- a book of pictures, my weapons, and Allison's diary, which Chris had sent me shortly after he sent the letter with the life-shattering news. I had wriiten him a short reply, my hands shaking all the while, and told him that I would be coming to Beacon Hills immediately, no matter what my parents said or did to prevent me from coming. I was eighteen now, a legal adult, and they couldn't do anything, really, besides cut me off from my inheritance. Which was a possible, but not probable thing. I was their only child, and my mother didn't want other Hunters to know she no longer had control of her headstrong-and-dangerous daughter.

I snorted and rolled down the windows, letting the cool air rush into the Camaro, my hands shifting on the steering wheel. The music that came from the cassette tape was slow and lulling, with a woman warbling about lost love and unfaithful men. The northern California air whipped my long hair across my face, teasing it into knots as I drove along. I knew where I was going first, before I went to the contact's house that Chris recommended to me. It was just a matter of getting there. I squinted as the trees thinned and the road widened, taking in the sight before me.

Beacon Hills was something that was caught between a town and a city, having a bit of both to suit it. There were a few tall buildings and abandoned warehouses as I passed by, and then there were local businesses-a movie theater, a bowling alley, a coffee shop and a cute little burger joint...My lips tilted up just a bit. I could imagine Allison walking down these streets, dressed in that dark peacoat she loved, a smile half-hidden in the folds of the thick scarf around her neck. She would have loved this place; she had never been a big-city gal. She loved-had loved-quaint things and the beauty of the redwood forests and the sky when it was clear of clouds. Allison may have lived in San Francisco, but I could almost guarantee that she had felt like Beacon Hills was her _home_.

I continued on, tapping the brakes when some jerk decided to pull out in front of me at the last second and go ten miles under the speed limit, which I figured was a common occurence in the middle of Nowhereville, so I tried to keep my calm. Tried. I cast a semi-interested look out the window when I past Beacon Hills High School, and then the hospital, until I finally came across what I was actually looking for-the cemetery.

It was local and tiny, filled with overgrown weeds and crumbling headstones of families who never left the area, who grew up and grew old and died in this place without ever having to face the real world. I envied these dead. I parked at the gate and got out of the Camaro slowly, my eyes raking over the land, heart galloping in my chest like a runaway drum. I was terrified of this place and what it symbolized. Somewhere through that gate was the girl that I had sworn to protect-and wasn't it a huge slap in the face that the thing that separated us now wasn't distance; it was the cold hard ground beneath my feet. I swallowed hard and tugged my yellow raincoat closer to me, stepping throught the gate before I lost my nerve.

My moccasins slid a bit on the damp earth, but I trudged forward and gritted my teeth. Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes and squinted at each gravestone, nearly blowing out an exasperated breath when the letters switched places with one another. My dyslexia became ten times worse when I was anxious, and it took everything in me not to just give up trying to read the stupid things and return to the nice leather seats of my car. But after a few more torturous seconds of skimming names, (Meyers, Allowitz, Kane, Campbell, Hale, Bennet, Moore)...I stumbled upon the grave, as if almost by accident.

There it was, in between Victoria and Kate's final resting place. All of the Argent women right there, together, guarding one another even in death. _Allison Argent,_ the headstone read. _1997-2014, _the headstone read. _A loving daughter, a true friend, and a remarkable soul_, the headstone read. I read it and reread it, but the words were still the same. They still meant the same thing. I remembered how I had felt reading Chris' letter, the emptiness that had filled me as the piece of paper had fluttered to the ground. This was worse. This was the loss all over again, accompanied by a pain that I hadn't known was physically possible. It was an ache that started at the center of my chest and spread to my fingertips, bringing me to my knees in the high, damp grass.

I didn't decide to cry-I don't remember really how I came to fall on my knees in front of Allison's grave and start sobbing. It wasn't a choice, and that was normally how my emotions came-well thought out and compartmentalized. Orderly. Calm. That was not how this was. I banged my fists on the ground and let out a broken shriek, not even caring who could hear me. A few birds took flight, startled by the sudden noise, and I watched them streak into the sky, tears sluicing down my cheeks. There were a few bundles of dead flowers under my hands, and I let the my fingers curl around the petals tightly, as though they were the only thing grounding me. Nothing had ever hurt this much. I knew nothing would ever hurt this much again.

It took a long time for me to gain control of myself again. I knew if Allison had been there, she would have smiled at me softly and put her hand on my shoulder, and I took comfort in that. Because that was the only thing I could take comfort in here in this unfamiliar town, crouched in front of the grave of my best friend. I wiped my eyes on the sunshiney sleeve of my coat and hoisted myself to my feet, sucking in deep breath after deep breath to stabilize myself.

"Sorry, Ally-oop," I whispered. "Pretty pathetic, huh? The girl who used to beat up people for looking at you wrong, crying like a baby on the ground...I know now, that the secrets I was keeping were what drew us apart. And I'm so sorry, Allison, for letting that happen." I traced the name on her gravestone and gave a tiny smile. "We were something, huh? You were fantastic with that bow and arrow, and I wasn't too shabby myself with guns. We were inseparable. Your dad used to say no one could ever drag us apart. It's kind of ironic that we were the ones to create that distance." I looked out over the cemetery, at the chipping headstones and the tall grass and the mud on the ground. "It's one of my biggest regrets, letting you walk away without explaining. I could have still protected you-I could have...have let you protect yourself, but I was stupid and selfish and afraid, and look where that got me." My laugh was more of a broken sob. "God, I'm so sorry, Allison. I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't there when you needed me, but I'm doing as your dad asked. I'm putting everything aside and following this new Code. For you. To make this up to you. I'm going to make this up to you, I promise."

I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a shaky breath, tucking my hands under my armpits as I walked back to the gate. There was nothing else that I could say without bursting into tears again. I didn't know if I would ever be able to back to the cemetery-it hurt so much standing there, helpless, that I didn't know if I would ever be able to face it again. I was nearly to the gate when a sound behind me made me stop in my tracks. I tensed up and immediately put my hand into my coat, fingers wrapping around the gun tucked in the waistband of my jeans. I whirled around and locked eyes on the person that was standing a few feet away.

It was a boy. That was the first thing that I noticed. The second thing was the bushel of flowers in his hand and startled look on his face. He was staring down at the place my hand rested on the gun, his eyes far too keen for my own liking. The boy put one of his hands in the air, the other still grasping the flowers tightly, and groaned. "Okay, no. No, I do not want to be shot. No, I do not. And I do not want to know why you are carrying a gun. Just let me...uh..slide right on by, and I'll forget this ever happened, alright?" The boy started to edge backwards. "It's always me, I swear to God. Where is Scott when you-"

I pulled out my gun and stepped forward, the name hitting me like a slap in the face. Chris had mentioned Scott McCall in his second letter. He was the boy that I was supposed to be meeting. He was the alpha of the town, and he had been the one to ensnare Allison's heart. Maybe it wasn't smart to pull a gun on a boy who may or may not have had ties to my contact. But at the moment, I wasn't thinking all that clearly. Who knew how many Scotts actually lived in Beacon Hills? For some reason, I had a feeling that this boy would lead me to the right one.

"Oh, what the hell?! Come on, do I even-have we met? Maybe you should tell me who you are before you start swinging around a gun!"

I steadied my hand. This was not a good idea, I knew. If he didn't know Scott, then he would have seen too much. I would have to knock the kid unconcious. "Do you know Scott McCall?" I barked, putting on my no-nonsense voice. People normally didn't take a girl who weighed less then 125 pounds seriously, especially with my willowy height and big blue eyes. And there was nothing I hated more than not being taken seriously.

The kid ran his free hand through his dark hair and gave a faint laugh. "Yes. Yep. He's uh, my best friend. Sometimes I really question my life choices..." he muttered. "So, are you here to kill him? Because we've already had it hard enough, to tell you the truth. Crazy alpha, freaky-ass kanima, an evil druid, a freakin' evil kitsune..." He looked...tired. And exasperated. "Can we take a raincheck on this whole murder thing, Sunshine? 'Cuz I'm not feeling it."

I scowled and looked down at my coat. Now I was defintely going to ditch the thing. "I'm not here to kill anyone. I'm here to talk with Scott McCall-Chris Argent told me I could find sanctuary here." I tilted my chin up. "My name is Matilda Lovec, of the ancient Hunter families. I was essentially asked to come to be a bridge between the Hunters and...the supernatural." I narrowed my eyes. "Who are you?"

"Stiles Stilinski. Of...Beacon Hills and the county sheriff." Stiles eyed my gun warily. "Want to put that down? I'm not a wolf. There won't be any, y'know..." He mimed claws and fangs, which, strangely, made me want to burst into laughter.

I lowered my gun slowly and then shoved it back into the waistband of my jeans, my eyes roaming over the Stilinski boy appraisingly. He was a gangly thing, pale and thin with fine features. Big golden brown eyes and the kind of lashes girls would kill for-cute, but not my type. "If you're not a werewolf, why are you hanging out with the McCall pack?" I couldn't hold my tongue despite how much I didn't want to voice my curiosity. I needed to keep this meeting formal, strictly business. All I wanted to do was offer my assistance to Scott, basically give him my business card and get the heck out of dodge. I wanted to live by Allison's new Code, but I wanted to do it elsewhere, preferably not anywhere near the place that she died. Yet I was still curious about how this whole 'running with the pack' thing worked. Were humans accepted really readily in a group based so fully on instinct and drive?

Stiles gave a surprised laugh at my question, his arms dropping. "Uh, well. We're not really your typical kind of pack." He scratched the back of his neck and readjusted his grip on the flowers with his other hand. "There's Scott, and he's a true alpha." My eyes widened at that-Chris hadn't thought to give me any specific details, and it was a shock to find out that Allison's ex-boyfriend was a werewolf, let alone the most powerful alpha there could be. "And we have a banshee, a kitsune, a werecoyote..." Stiles trailed off and shook his head. "There's not really anything normal about it. And me-I've been friends with Scott since elementary school, and when he was turned, I stuck by him, simple as that." Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, as if anyone would have done the same in his place. Then he narrowed his eyes. "You're new to all of this, huh? And you're a Hunter, so...you're not going to pull anything-anything, stabby, are you? Or whip out that gun at the most convenient moment?"

I shook my head and took a step back. It was hard, trying to have a conversation with this boy who had tension in his shoulders and suspicion in his eyes. I didn't really blame him. From Chris' vague letter, I had gathered that the McCall pack had been having a rough time. Especially after losing Allison. And the longer I stared at Stiles, the more hollow I felt. I was trying to picture Allison standing beside him, fondly rolling her eyes at his jerky movements and babbling speech. They probably would have gotten along like brother and sister. "I'm not here to hurt anyone," I told Stiles softly when I could speak again, letting the stony expression on my face slip for a second. Stiles relaxed a tiny bit, his eyebrows raising. "Chris asked me to come here. He told me that-that there was a better way of living. That everything wasn't as black-and-white as my parents wanted to make it." My voice had a bitter edge to it. "He said there was a new Code, and I should have known that if anyone would have changed it, it would have been Allison..."

I realized what I had said when it was already too late.

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed briefly. "You knew Allison?" I was silent for a second, trying to gather my bearings. There was no way I was going to let this gangly, untrained kid make me cry with one simple question. No way.

I swallowed hard and pulled my coat a little closer to me. "I knew her when she lived in San Francisco. Before...any of this." That was all I offered to the Stilinski boy, and that seemed to be enough for him.

"You know Argent isn't here, right? He and Isaac Lahey left for France to go recruit more Hunters."

I bobbed my head and let my eyes fall on the flowers in Stiles' hand. "I know. I got a letter. That's how I found out about Allison." My words were clipped, but I wondered if Stiles could hear the barely-contained pain laced in them.

His brown eyes were sympathetic, and he shifted from foot to foot as his eyes raked over the ground of the cemetery. "My mom isn't too far from Allison," he told me suddenly, pointing in the direction of my best friend's grave. "She's got a plot over there on the hill. That's-that's where I was taking these flowers." He clutched the ivory flowers closer to him. "But I just remembered that I took her some last week, and...and it's been a while since anyone has taken Allison any." Stiles' brown eyes gleamed in the dim sunlight, and I couldn't stop a lump from building in my throat. "After everything that happened, we realized that we can't go back. We...we didn't forget about her, y'know, we could never forget..." The pained expression on his face knifed through me. "But we needed to breathe, and I think somewhere along the way that meant not visiting as much, so I-" He took a deep breath and held out the bundle of white flowers to me. "Can you take these to her? I'll buy some more for my mom, but I think Allison should have these."

I took the flowers wordlessly and stared at him. It was odd to look at this boy and see that he had cared for my friend, and I didn't even know who he was. But right now, he was my only connection to the post-San Francisco Allison, and I was still curious about her. And I was also curious about the people Allison had surrounded herself with in my absence, Stiles included. So I gave him a tiny smile, one I could deny easily later on, and I tilted my head so he would follow me back to the grave. It was comforting to lay the flowers down on the damp earth-it made the scene seem almost serene instead of dismal. I stood up and looked down at the marker for a few more minutes, Stiles hovering at a safe distance behind me. I was strangely comforted by his presence. It was unexplainable, really, since I didn't know the kid, but maybe the thought that Allison had trusted him was enough.

When I finally straightened my shoulders, the Stilinski boy was already turning around, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. "I, uh, have my Jeep. So if you need to, you can follow me to Scott's house." Stiles kept eyeing me warily, as though I was going to whip out my gun at any second and go back on my word. I kind of felt bad for the kid-he obviously had been through so much that trust was rewarded sparingly.

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks."

We walked silently together through the cemetery, and when we finally passed under the threshold of the gate, I let out a breath that I hadn't known I had been holding. Being so close to the dead was unnerving-everything about the place where they rested felt stagnant and eternal. Infinite, almost. But infinite was a lie, wasn't it? All of the gravestones and the emptiness in my heart proved that.

I was relieved when I finally came to the side of my slightly rusted 1981 Camaro. It was a thing of beauty, mottled by only a few intricate flaws. It was the original paint job, not retouched, and for all the money my family had, I couldn't bring myself to fix the blemishes. Not only did they give the car character, but they also irked my mother to no end. It didn't really matter now, though, since I doubted I would see my mother for a very long time.

I threw open the driver's door and eyed Stiles' Jeep, an old CJ-5 model, by the looks of it, painted a hideous baby blue color that nearly brought a smile to my lips. Stiles wasn't heading to the Jeep, however. He was gawking at my car. "This is _yours_?" he breathed, looking highly impressed. Then he blinked and shook his head. "Right, Scott's house. But uh, nice car, Matilda."

I cringed briefly at the name Matilda leaving his mouth, but Stiles was already scurrying to the Jeep before I could correct him. Everyone called me Tilly. Well, nearly everyone, unless I was on a hunt or my parents were angry with me. Shaking my own head, I climbed into the Camaro and turned the key, satisfied when the engine roared to life. I gripped the steering wheel and waited for Stiles to pull out the brush by the woods, briefly surprised when the Jeep went thundering past me at a speed that seemed dubious for such an old model. I followed Stiles as best as I could, eyes roaming over the scenery of nice, middle-class houses with neatly trimmed yards and children's toys on the lawns and concrete statues that added to the aesthetic of the whole place. It was-average, this neighborhood. Refreshing, after living in the Presidio Heights area of San Fran for almost all of my life, where a BMW in every other driveway was the norm and at least one person in every neighborhood had a ridiculously elaborate fountain with naked marble cherubs bathing in its water.

Allison would have loved it here, no doubt.

My family's excess of money had annoyed her as much as it had annoyed me. My father liked to keep up the image because he was afraid what would be said about one of the Elder Hunter families if they had an air about them that was anything less then regal. My mother liked to keep up the image to intimidate the people around her, Hunters or not. She liked looking down on people-that was a simple fact that I had learned at a young age. I still loved her, but my anger and her lack of understanding toward me had forever tarnished our relationship. And my father, too afraid to anger either one of us, had remained neutral when I had informed them of my plan to leave, which had ended up making me more angry than if he would have just sided with my mother. They were perfect at pretending to be slightly better than normal citizens, and I had been trained at a young age to be the same.

I was starting to like Beacon Hills more and more as we continued to drive. We finally pulled into a neighborhood with older but still beautiful houses, and before I knew what was happening, Stiles was slamming on his brakes in front of one of the first homes. I nearly skidded into the rear end of the Jeep, shaking my head at Stiles' feverish driving. I wondered if it was one of the side effects of running with a wolf pack. And then suddenly, I was nervous. Because I was going to be walking into the home of a true alpha, and it wasn't so I could threaten everything that he loved or kill him. To talk. I was going to wander into the den of someone potentially dangerous so I could _talk_ to him. So I could request sanctuary in a town that seemed like it had a personal agenda against Hunters.

I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. It wasn't usual for me to be so overcome by fear-but then again, I had never done anything like this. Stiles knocking on the window of the Camaro finally snapped me out of my panic, and lifting my chin and straightening my shoulders, I climbed out of the car with as much dignity as I could muster. The house in front of us was large and two-storied, a bluish-gray color, and it had white trim and a few potted plants sitting on the porch. Stiles walked up the driveway with his hands in his pockets, and he looked as familiar a fixture in front of the home as one of the windows did. I briefly wondered if this was a common occurence-Stiles bringing complete strangers to meet Scott McCall. He was handling it surprisingly well now that my gun was completely concealed from his sight.

I trudged after the Stilinski boy, eyes darting around the yard as I followed. Paranoia had been burned into my mind like a brand since a young age; there was never a moment when I wasn't looking over my shoulder. Stiles didn't knock, which was concerning on all sorts of levels. I hestiated on the porch, unsure until he motioned me forward from the doorway. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, I knew there was something going on. I could hear hushed voices from the next room over, and I stiffened. There was definitely more than one person in there. I wasn't ready for this, but there wasn't really another option. I had made a promise to Chris, a promise to Allison, and I was going to follow through.

So when Stiles stepped into the living room of the house, which was filled with pictures and two coffee tables and several overstuffed armchairs and warm bodies, I followed him with my chin up, making my gaze as glacial as the color of my eyes. I wasn't here to make friends-I was here for business and business only. Everyone stopped talking when we entered. Actually, there were a few greetings called out to Stiles, and then wandering eyes locked on me and those greetings died on everyone's lips. There were three girls situated on the beige couch to my right, each sitting in varying degrees of rigid alarm.

The girl closest to me had glossy black hair and chestnut eyes, and the kind of face that screamed innocent in a way I hadn't seen in a long time. Her comic book printed tights and baggy red sweater spoke of a funky style that wasn't common outside of bigger cities, but she wore it well. The girl in the middle had dirty blonde waves and dark eyes, and the expressioon on her face was alarmingly fierce. She was staring at me like I was prey, and my fingers itched to grab my gun. Her short-shorts and knitted cardigan softened her image a bit, but I couldn't help but feel like she was more animal than human. And the girl sitting on the very far edge of the couch-her looks alone were intimidating. Long red hair, full lips, and an outfit that was both expensive and stylish. Her green eyes looked almost hazel in the dim light of the living room, and they were no less judging with the color change. The look she was giving me seemed like it should have been reserved for a huge spider or something equally disgusting.

Stiles coughed awkwardly, and my eyes shifted from the girls on the couch to the boy that was standing in the center of the room, a piece of ripped notebook paper in his hands. He was built, his navy Henley tight on his chest, and he had brown puppy dog eyes, golden brown skin, and gelled black hair. His jaw was slightly crooked. Even so, he was incredibly attractive and had an air of sincerity about him that was refreshing. There was a frown on his lips as he looked from Stiles, to me, and back to Stiles again. "Stiles-what is-?"

"I'm guessing that you're Scott?" I asked, stepping in front of Stiles. Everyone's eyes in the room were on me-I could feel their gazes burning holes into my skin. "This looks like a bad time, but I won't make this long." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "My name is Matilda Lovec. My family-we've worked closely with the Argents and other Elder Hunter families for years." Scott's eyebrows furrowed. "Chris Argent told me that I could find sanctuary here, in Beacon Hills, as long as I offered assistance to you and your pack if needed." I tilted my head to the side. "He said there was a new Code coming into play and requested that I be one of the first to uphold it. He told me that-that Allison trusted all of you. He said that you follow the new Code even though you're not Hunters." I let my eyes fall on each one of them briefly. "I can respect that, for Allison's sake."

"You talk like you knew her," piped the redhead, her eyes narrowing dangerously. There was something raw and angry in her expression, and it took me aback. But I didn't let it show on my face.

"I did." My voice was hoarse and more brittle than I intended. "I grew up with Allison-she was my best friend. It was my job to look after her when we were children-it was my job to protect her and keep her away from everything supernatural." I swallowed. "We were like sisters."

"That's funny," Red replied, venom dripping from her words. "Because she never mentioned you."

That hurt. It felt like someone had slapped me in the face, and I gritted my teeth to keep from saying something unsavory. Scott shot Red a disapproving look and stepped forward, his lips pursed. "Argent sent you? I'm sorry, Matilda, but he didn't tell us anyone was coming. And being safe in Beacon Hills- that sounds like a joke. If you're here to help, that's-well, that's fantastic. But he must not have told you the whole story. He must not have said anything about how dangerous this town is." Scott's eyes were sympathetic. "I can't guarantee your protection. I can't guarantee _anyone's_ protection." That seemed to pain him. "But if you want to help us, I can promise that I'll do everything in my power to help you."

I stared. I hadn't been expecting the McCall pack to actually need my help. I thought things had been calm and Chris simply wanted me to offer my assistance when needed, not immediately. Because I still needed to get used to the idea of working alongside a werewolf. I had spent years wiping the creatures from the planet, and now guilt ate at my insides, and a tiny voice in my head whispered _hypocrite_ in time with my heartbeat. This was too much, and suddenly, I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be curled up in my queen size bed at home, eating loads of chocolate and watching Game of Thrones reruns and completely unaware that Allison Argent was dead and it was maybe all my fault. Because I was the one who made her leave in the first place. And now I had a new Code to follow and a promise to fill and I was standing in a room full of supernatural creatures.

My life had changed forever when Chris had sent me that letter, and I was just starting to realize that I wasn't a Hunter anymore. I wasn't Matilda Lovec of the Elder group of Hunters. I had basically disowned myself when I left home. Now I was homeless and friendless, and all of my training seemed to amount to nothing. I was Tilly, and that was all.

"Scott, I really don't think-" the girl with the raven-hair began, eyeing me nervously.

"I'll help you with whatever it is you need." I told them evenly. "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

Scott offered me a genuine smile, and Stiles, who was standing at my side, merely grimaced. "Great," the alpha said, and it sounded like he actually meant it, not like he was trying to be polite. I could see the kindness in him, the general air that always marked a good leader. "Well, you already know my name, but that's Kira Yukimura," he said, nodding to the raven-haired girl. "And that's Malia Tate," he informed me, locking eyes with the girl who looked a little too feral for my liking. "And then-"

"My name is Lydia Martin," Red told me, her expression cold. "And I was Allison's best friend while she was here."

There was silence then, the thick, awkward kind that came with sworn enemies trying to form an alliance. I could already tell this was going to go well. I walked over to one of the empty armchairs and sat down, my eyebrows raised in what I hoped looked like vague interest and not questioning disgust. This is what I had to work with. A girl who hated my guts already, a chick who looked like she was debating on the best ways to eat me, a girl who looked like she couldn't hurt a fly, a spazzy boy with a bit too much sarcasm, and an alpha who would be a more efficient leader if his heart wasn't so big. And now their merry band of five had just added a sixth member who was none too thrilled to be here.

"What is it exactly," I began, tapping my fingers on my thighs and leaning forward, "that you need help with?"

Scott bit his lip, and everyone, myself included, watched him questioningly. Then he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of bullet casings, cradling the brass shells in his hands. "I found these in my friend's loft. He-well, he hadn't answered any of my texts, and it had been weeks, so I went looking for him. These were the only things I came across, just lying on the floor." Scott handed my one of the casings, and up close, I could see the engraving of a skull on its side. My stomach plummeted to somewhere in my toes, and I ran my free hand down the side of my face.

Malia and Stiles exchanged a curious look, but I wasn't really paying any attention to them. Scott rocked forward on his heels and stared down at me. "Does this mean anything to you?"

I let out a deep sigh. "Unfortunately." I held up the brass bullet to the light, looking at the finely carved detail, no doubt done by hand. I felt sick. "This is a symbol of the Calaveras, one of the most influential Hunter families in the world. They're stationed in Mexico, and they're arguably the most well-funded and feared of all the Hunters." I let my gaze meet Scott's. "I'm sorry to say this, but if you found these in your friend's loft, there's a good chance that he's already dead."

Red stared at Scott for a long second and asked, "What would they want with Derek?"

"You don't think they really killed him, do you?" Stiles inquired, looking mildly horrified. I didn't have the heart to repeat what I had already said. The Calaveras were ruthless, and they didn't kill the supernatural just to make the world a better place-the killed because they enjoyed it. There was a good chance that if this Derek guy wasn't already dead, he was being tortured. And honestly, I would have picked death over that.

Scott looked stricken. "I-I don't know. That's why you're all here." Scott made eye contact with Red and held out the rest of the bullets to her. "Can you...? Can you try to see, Lydia? It might work. It might help us."

Red wrinkled her nose momentarily, and I could tell by the way her shoulders were tensing that she wasn't exactly gung-ho for what Scott was asking of her. But finally, she let out a breathy little sigh and cupped her hands, letting Scott drop the casings into her waiting palms. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"What is she...?"

"Lydia's a banshee," Kira clarified, offering me an unsure smile. "Sometimes she can sense other peoples' energy on items."

I sat back against the cushions, a bit stunned, and watched as Red shuddered all of a sudden, dropping the casings onto the glass top of the coffee table. The noise made us all cringe, me most of all, and I didn't even have heightened hearing. Red's chest heaving, and her eyes shot open, filled with fear and uncertainty. I was briefly smug that she no longer looked so haughty and put together, but it quickly faded when Scott squatted down and placed a hand on her shoulder, asking: "Lydia, what? Is he dead?"

The redhead seemed thoroughly shaken and her eyes had taken on a glassy look. Everyone looked at her, worried. "No," Red answered quietly. "But I'm not sure he's alive, either."

Stiles' brows furrowed as he walked closer, fingers still wrapped firmly around the zipper of his green jacket. "What does that mean?"

Red looked down at her hands where they rested on her lap. "I don't know. There's something not right." She seemed frustrated with herself. "I just...I don't know."

"So if the Calaveras have him, how do we find them?" Stiles asked incredulously, running his hands through his already disheveled hair.

My heart was hammering in my chest. I knew the answer before Scott pursed his lips and said it grimly.

"Mexico."

My insides were too busy trying to tie themselves into knots to notice anyone else's reaction. I was seriously beginning to reconsider helping the McCall pack, especially if they were going up against the _Calaveras_, of all people. The Calaveras, who liked to hack of body parts of supernatural creatures and deserters alike and mail them back to their families wrapped in boxes with nice festive bows. The Calaveras were not to be tested, and now that I was following a new Code, there was a good chance they would come for me sooner or later. It wasn't ideal to _deliver myself to them_.

But a promise was a promise, and it was starting to become one of my biggest regrets. I was loyal to a fault, and it seemed as though that loyalty was going to lead me directly to Mexico and into the hands of my would-be killers, all for the life of a werewolf who may or may not have been dead. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to control my facial expressions, hoping I didn't look as horrified as I felt. Finally, after a few beats of silence, I climbed to my feet.

Almost everyone eyed me like they expected me to leave. So when I instead leaned against the couch where all the girls were sitting, my expression stony, everyone but Scott blinked in surprise. "If we're going to Mexico, we're going to need a plan. The Calaveras aren't easily fooled, and they can be bought, but at a high price. Does anyone have any ideas?"

Stiles grinned suddenly and made eye contact with Scott, who smiled back. "I don't know," he said slyly. "Does 50,000 dollars sound like a good start?"

I blanched for a second, wondering where in the world the McCall pack would have come by that amount of money. Then I steeled myself and let a confident smirk slide onto my lips, deciding to save that question for later. It was better to pretend like I knew exactly what I was doing and go along with it-I was the master of pretending.

"Stilinski, I like the way you think."

**Hello, guys! Woo, chapter 1! This is odd for me, because this doesn't happen in the same universe as Gia and Sera's stories, so there are a lot of things I have to fact check again and...yeah. But I really enjoy writing Tilly, because she's hard-headed and a bit of a coward, but she's always throwing herself into dangerous situations. Anyways, thanks for reading. Review to let me know what you think-I'll appreciate it very much!**

**All the love, **

**Harley xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

chapter 2: borders between

_Scott is a werewolf, and there is nothing I can do to change that. Some things cannot be changed. It's strange to think that we're supposed to be mortal enemies. Me, and the boy with the big brown eyes and the crooked smile and a heart the size of California. The boy that I'm in love with. Because I am in love with him-I know that for sure. My parents are trying to do everything in their power to keep us apart, but I always find my way back to Scott's arms. I hope that's one of those things that cannot ever be changed._

_-written by Allison Argent after a particularly nasty incident in which her father threatened the life of her werewolf boyfriend_

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There was a good chance that I had lost my mind, but of course, when my mother asked me that exact question, I vehemently denied her assumption. I didn't tell her that I was currently sitting on a werewolf's couch in an unfamiliar home-that would have caused her to have a stroke. I rolled my eyes and pressed my cell phone closer to my ear, listening to my mother rant at me about all the cons of living in Beacon Hills. I was sure some of the reasons were legitimate, but I had no intention of listening to what my mom was preaching after I was already here.

I had simply tried to pitch the idea of me enrolling in Beacon Hills High School, and she was throwing the ultimate fit. "It's a _public school_, Matilda," she had sniffed, saying 'public school' like someone would say 'infectious disease'. I knew my mother was pretentious, but this took the cake. Just the thought of her perfect, good-girl, studious daughter attending a public school with neaderthals and mongrels upset her to no end-mostly, I assumed, because people would ask about me and instead of saying I was staying at a prestigious boarding school, she would have to tell them the horrifying reality of my choices.

"I'd have a better time making friends at a public school, Mom," I tried to wheedle, but I doubted it would do any good. My dad wouldn't care where I went as long as I was happy and doing well-unless, of course, my mother said differently.

I rubbed my hand down the side of my face in exasperation when I heard my mother tsk in disagreement. "That seems highly unlikely, since you've always been enrolled in private schools, Matilda. Please, for the sake of the family, continue the tradition-you've already left us. I'll have your father fax your information as soon as you pick a nice, relatively close private school. Until then, there is really nothing else to discuss."

I straightened my spine and gritted my teeth, glaring down at the plush carpet of Scott's living room. There was no one in there with me-everyone had left to go pack for Mexico, since now it was official that we were going. Even though the parents didn't know and wouldn't approve if they did. My mother would probably show up at the border with her infamous scythe if she even had an inkling of the idiotic plan I had in mind.

"When are you going to let me have my own life?" I finally breathed, anger saturating my words. "I'm not a puppet, Mom. This isn't as black-and-white as you're making it." I clutched the phone so hard that the plastic started to bite into my hand. "When do I get a choice?"

My mother sighed heavily. "When I believe you're capable of making the right one, Matilda." And then the line went dead.

I dropped the phone into my lap, fingers slowly curling into a fist that I pressed against my temple. There was no 'goodbye', no 'I love you'-just disapproval and disappointment. I struggled to remember a time when I wasn't always obeying the rules, always sacrificing myself for others for the greater good. I stopped being that girl after Allison left, and my relationship with my mother had never recovered. And after I had decided to leave, my mother must have felt like the only way she could still control me was if she limited my school choice.

I bit my lip and tilted my head back to look up at the white ceiling. Fine. I would play by her rules for this one last time-private school it was. I hoisted myself off the couch and padded to the doorway, looking each direction before I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. I was unfamiliar with this town, with this house, and with these people in general. I wasn't the best at making friends-people normally thought I was condescending and cold, a hard bitch with a hefty bank account and no problems in the world.

So interacting with the McCall pack was especially difficult. They had so much familiarity between them-they shared looks and gestures and seemingly thoughts, synchronized as one unit. Was that what it meant to be apart of a pack? To be an essential cog that ran a unique machine?

It was an odd, foreign concept. I'd always had Allison, until I didn't, and then I simply hung out with other Hunters. Iliana, Cass, Frankie-they were my age, and they were from respectable Hunter families. Unlike the tainted Argent clan, as Cass had once sneered over a plate of calamari. But even those three weren't close to me-Iliana spoke very little English, Cass was an entitled bitch, and Frankie and I had gotten along just fine until he had tried to shove his tongue down my throat. I was always _alone_ after Allison, inexplicably. So the group atmosphere in the McCall house was odd for me to encounter.

I was mainly just glad that the others had left already. I had told Scott that I needed to call my mother, and he hadn't even blinked an objection. The McCall boy had simply nodded and left the room to give me some privacy, telling me somewhat awkwardly that he would be up in his room if I needed anything.

So I crept down the hallway, wary of everything and anything. I stared at pictures on the walls as I passed, trying to glean some insight of the boy upstairs. He was an only child, from what I could tell-all of the pictures in the house were centered around him and the stages of his life. His mother was beside him in almost every single photo-she was a pretty woman with dark curly ringlets, golden brown skin, and extremely dark eyes. There were a few pictures of Scott and Stiles as children, but I didn't see any pictures featuring Scott's father. Maybe he wasn't around?

I trailed over to the stairs, hesitant. They were steep, covered with beige carpet that my mother would have no doubt classified as tacky. I, on the other hand, loved carpet. It made places seem homey, unlike the barren wooden floors and marble tiles my father had installed in our own home. I finally gathered enough air in my lungs to push out a huge sigh and start climbing the stairs. There were four bedrooms down the upstairs hallway-two of the doors were shut tightly, one was flung wide, and the other was cracked slightly. The one that was cracked had light pouring out from beneath it. I came to a halt in front of the room and raised my hand to knock, inhaling a startled breath when, before my knuckles could even scrape the wood of the door, Scott's voice said: "You can come in, Matilda."

Blinking hard, I did as I was told. Scott's door swung open, and then I was stepping inside and analyzing the contents of his room. There was a lacrosse stick in the corner by his closet, and his floor had clothing scattered in odd and random places across it. There were a few pairs of shoes lined up beside his queen sized bed, and covers were thrown into a haphazard pile, mixed in with the pillows and sheets on his mattress. Scott's closet was open, spilling assorted clothing and extra blankets. My eyes trailed from the closet to the walls of posters and then over to Scott, who was sitting at his computer desk, a duffel bag and a few articles of clothing in his lap. His brown eyes were questioning, but not probing.

"What did your mom say about enrolling at BHHS?" he asked.

I rolled my tongue against my teeth and then opened my mouth to answer. "Oh, it's a definite no. She refused to send my paperwork to anywhere besides a private school." I crossed my arms over my chest and looked around, suddenly uncomfortable. "Are there even any private schools in Beacon County?" I asked dully, pushing my moccasins against the soft carpet underneath my feet.

Scott barked out a quick laugh. "Yeah, actually. One of the best private schools in California, according to some. You may have heard of it. Devenford Prep?"

I shook my head. "Not ringing any bells. I was at one private school for most of my life, though, Crihden Academy in San Francisco. I went there with Allison forever-"

I winced and cut myself off, looking away from Scott. "It's alright. You can say her name-nobody else will."

When I looked back up, Scott's eyes were glassy. "We weren't together when she died. I mean..." Scott looked down at his duffel back. "We had ended it before, and she was talking to Isaac. And I-I started feeling things for Kira." His cheeks darkened and he looked up at me from beneath his eyelashes. "But there are just some things that you can't forget, and loving Allison-that's one of them." His smile was soft now. "It still hurts to talk about it. She died in my arms because she was trying to protect all of us. I can't forget that." He swallowed. "I also want to answer your questions about how it was when she came here, how we were, and how she affected everyone."

"Well, you can tell me in your own time," I offered gently, letting my arms drop to my sides. "You don't-owe me an explanation or anything. You welcomed me into your house even after I told you I am-was-" I quickly corrected, "a Hunter. And that's more than I deserve, so I just wanted to thank you for that." I fiddled with the hem of my jacket and gave him a timid smile. "If I'm here for a while, then I would like to hear the rest, whenever you want to tell me."

Scott smiled back at me, so sincere it hurt. "Alright."

I nodded to his duffel bag, trying to avoid clearing my throat to void the awkwardness. "Packing for Mexico?"

Scott pursed his lips. "Trying to, at least. I think we should only be gone for a couple days." His brow furrowed. "My mom is going to kill me when she finds out where we went."

I grinned suddenly, surprising both of us. "My mother would die if I told her I was going to Mexico with a werewolf's pack of supernatural friends. So I left that tidbit out of the lovely phone conversation we had."

Scott laughed under his breath, continuing to shovel clothing into his duffel. "Good call, then."

"So..." I traced one of my feet in a circle. "Devenford Prep, huh? I guess I'll have to pass that information on to my parents." I was trying to make casual conversation, and it turned out I still sucked at it, but I sucked a little less talking to Scott. He was just easy to be around.

"Yeah, but fair warning, Matilda-it's home of snobs and trust fund babies." Scott's eyes were bright and shining with mirth. It was almost as if we hadn't talked about Allison at all.

I gave him a good-natured smile. "I should fit right in then. And Scott? You can call me Tilly."

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I wasn't quite sure how this had come to be, exactly, but before I knew it, my car was roaring down a rural road in Mexico, kicking up dust as I went whatever speed I pleased. There hadn't been any police cars that I had seen-from what I could tell, in rural areas such as this, they mainly were concentrated in towns. So I pushed the Camaro when I wanted to, listening to her purr, and let her idle when she needed to. I was following Stiles' Jeep closely now, my window rolled down, allowing thick, humid air to assault my skin. My hair was billowing around me, and for half a second, I felt light as a feather.

It didn't matter that I had crossed the border under false pretenses and had offered them one of my many fake IDs when doing so, or that we were on our way to meet the Calaveras to retrieve a possibly-not-dead werewolf-what mattered in that second was that it was just me, my car, and the Mexican wind blowing through my hair.

Before we had left, I had uncomfortably offered to let someone ride with me if they wanted to-but much to my relief, no one volunteered. Maybe I should have been offended that no one trusted me enough to get in the car with me alone, but I wasn't. Mostly because I think if the roles were reversed, I would have reacted the same way.

So Stiles and Scott occupied the front seats of the Jeep, and Kira, Malia and Lydia were stuffed together in the back. And I had peace and quiet and was enjoying every second of it.

There had been a couple hours of driving nonstop and swinging by gas stations to get fuel and food, but other than that, we were making decent time. That was good, because I didn't feel like their friend Derek had much time at all.

I remembered the urgent way Scott had packed his bag after I texted my mother about Devenford, the wary looks he had been shooting out his windows to make sure his mother wasn't home. He wasn't planning to tell his mom anything, and neither were any of the others. Not the best thing to do, considering we could very well die here in Mexico, but I guess I couldn't really say anything.

The GPS on my phone said we were within a mile of the town. I knew the plan-Scott, Kira, and Malia would wait in the club the Calaveras owned, blending in with the crowd and observing. Then Stiles, Lydia, and I would go to speak with Araya Calavera personally. Which was one of the most terrifying things that I could think of, but I also really didn't have another option. I was their best chance of getting Derek back alive if I played my cards right, and my promise to Allison burned in the back of mind, so I had quickly accepted the suggestion when it was offered.

I could tell the others were wary of me still-only Stiles and Scott seemed to be alright with my presence. I made Kira nervous, and Malia eyed me like I was an active threat. Red, on the other hand, seemed to hate me for no other reason than I had known Allison before she had. But whatever their trust was in me, I decided I would prove that I was someone that they could rely on. It may have been Allison that I was changing for, but I still wanted to change for myself. I was tired of killing for no other reason than it was 'necessary'. I wanted a purpose other than destruction.

As it turned out, self-destruction might have been it.

We finally pulled into the little town, our cars and plates odd and out of place in the area. Some of the locals were giving us skeptical looks, shuffling from marketplace to marketplace, their baskets full of fruits and their eyes full of mistrust. I couldn't exactly blame them-we weren't exactly inconspicuous. And people as out of place as we were normally equated trouble. I desperately tried to hide behind my sun visior as we continued to roll along, finally parking across from a tiny club named _La Luna Oscura._ The others hopped out of the Jeep, and I exited the Camaro as gracefully as I possibly could, my nerves jangling like windchimes in a storm.

Scott met me halfway. "Are we clear on the plan?" he asked me discreetly, ducking his head a bit so we were eye-level. His voice was soft but determined. I gave one sharp nod, and then Scott turned and motioned for Malia and Kira to follow him. They did so without question, following him to the back of the building. There was supposed to be a back door, and if it was being guarded, Scott said he had no qualms about knocking the bouncer unconcious. I, on the other hand, would have suggested doing away with him completely, but I was glad that I hadn't said that aloud. The McCall pack had a strict no-killing policy. It was odd, because most of the world did. I had just been raised by people who discarded societal norms.

I walked over to where Stiles and Lydia were standing, rubbing my arm uncomfortably and steeling myself for what was to come. My moccasins had been traded in for tan lace-up boots, and my bright yellow raincoat had been changed out for a floral-print romper layered over by a cardigan that matched my boots.

As planned, we all turned and walked the opposite direction of the club, weaving in and out of local people and roadside shops. There was complete silence between us for a few heartbeats, and then Stiles, trying to look optimistic, said: "This doesn't seem so bad."

Red gave a haughty, frustrated shake of her head. "It's not the town, it's the plan," she muttered.

Stiles squinted his eyes and continued to weave through vendors and customers alike. "What's wrong with the plan?"

He sounded slightly offended, considering he had organized basically the whole thing.

Red actually stopped in the middle of the street and stared at him. I had an urge to smack her upside her pretty little head, but I refrained. "Stiles," she began slowly. "This could be the stupidest plan we've ever come up with. You're aware of that, right?"

Stiles shrugged slightly, and we all started walking again. "I'm aware it's not our best," he admitted. I stumbled on the rocky terrain, kicking gritty dust up as someone shouldered into me.

"We are going to die," Lydia replied, and it sounded so blunt that a chill shot up my spine, even though the heat was plastering my hair to the back of my neck.

"Are you saying that as a banshee?" I questioned, finally breaking my silence.

"Or are you just being pessimistic?" Stiles finished, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

Lydia huffed and stepped out in front of us both, crossing the street. She was only a few feet away from the doors of the club when she said: "I'm saying it as a person who doesn't want to die."

Stiles made a face as he was nearly knocked over by a young boy on a bicycle. "Okay, would you just mind restricting any talk of death to actual banshee predictions?"

I eyed the man guarding the door just as Lydia leaned forward, her perfect red hair braided across her head like a crown and glinting in the bright sunlight. "This plan is stupid and we are going to die," she repeated, stubbornly arching an eyebrow.

Stiles' facial expression was comical. "Oh, thank you."

"Mmm." Lydia then stalked right over to the bouncer, murmuring something in Spanish when he tried to block us from the door. Stiles flipped up a card, a triumphant smile on his lips as he held up the intricate skull design to the cameras mounted just above the door.

The guard reluctantly stepped out of the way and let us enter, and before I realized it, we were standing in the middle of the club's dance floor. There was screaming coming from every direct, as well as the heavy bass of some song that was unfamiliar to me pounding out of the speakers. There were bodies writhing against bodies, sweaty and drunk and laughing. It was shocking really, because I had never been in a club. I hadn't done a lot of things in my seventeen years-alcohol and clubbing, smoking and drugs-they were of no interest to me. So I was not only stunned by the scene itself, but I was stunned to find myself there _in_ it.

Stiles and Lydia began to push through the sweaty throngs of people, and I followed closely behind, not wanting to get lost for fear of blowing the plan. Every body pressed up against me sent panic flooding through my system-I didn't know who in here was the enemy and who was just generally grinding up against me for the pleasure of it. My heart was a runaway drum in my chest, tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm against my ribcage as I tried to follow Stiles and Lydia with as much dignity as I could muster. They swerved for the bar at the last second, sitting down heavily in a few seats, so I took the seat to Stiles' left and cast a look to the bartender, who simply raised his eyebrows and slid us three shot glasses full of what I assumed was vodka.

Lydia started to pull some money out of her purse to cover it, but before she could even get her hand out of her bag, there was a chuckle from behind us. I turned around, my skin crawling, just as Severo Calavera shook his head, his dark, beetle-black eyes hooded in the dim lights of the dance floor. "No. On the house."

Stiles and I stared at him unflinchingly, and Lydia didn't even turn around. His next laugh sounded menacing, and I could smell his stale breath, he was standing so close. I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose, wondering if he recognized my face like I recognized his. We had met once before, years ago, after my father had requested the Calaveras assistance with a particularly large pack of werewolves. "Most American teenagers don't come across the border to refuse a drink," Severo told us in his thick accent, and I wanted to spit in his face.

Lydia let a tiny, triumphant smile grace her lips as she pulled out the item that she had orignally reached into her purse to retrieve. She dropped the Calaveras' skull-engraved bullet into the shot glass in front of her. "We didn't come to drink."

Severo's lips curled back from his teeth, and before I knew what was happening, we were being dragged off our respective bar stools and pushed through the crowd roughly. I wanted to twist out of the bouncer's grasp, but he was larger than me, and it was far too crowded to try to perform an fancy taekwondo moves. So I went along silently, and so did Lydia and Stiles, their faces blank masks as we were pushed and prodded along like cattle. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of being shoved along, we were ushered into a dark room.

There was one window in the corner, allowing thin, watery light to spill across the table in front of us. It was the only natural light available, which instantly heightened my sense of dread. There were a few plastic fold-out chairs situated around the table, and one of them was occupied. The woman in front of us gestured for Severo and the others to step out of the room, and they did so without a word. Then she leaned forward, ripping a small piece of cloth with a alarmingly sharp knife, and offered us a wicked smile. She was tiny, with graying, short brown hair and the sort of eyes that were as pitch as any night. The wrinkles around her mouth and eyes only added to the severity of her visage, and I felt myself take an involuntary step back as she continued to lean forward.

"Severo hates this music," Araya began, still smiling that awful smile. Her eyes were trained on me. "Me? I've always loved the music of the youth." She nodded to the doorway, where the bass pounded out of the speakers, dark and heavy as it mixed with something vaguely electronic. "This kind, especially. It has a savage energy."

Lydia didn't seem impressed by the meaningless conversation. "We're here for Derek Hale."

Araya raised an eyebrow slowly, leaning back. Her smile was still awful and secretive. "Is that so?" she asked. Cryptically. Mockingly. She looked from Lydia and back to me. "My, I never thought that in all my years, I would see the likes of a Lovec among such unsuitable company." Araya's eyes held mine, and I tilted up my chin, not letting her have the satisfaction of seeing me quiver. "Tell me, Matilda, do your parents know how far you've fallen?"

My gaze was level. "I follow a reformed Code, Araya. I don't expect you to understand it."

"We know you have Derek," Lydia continued, shooting me a warning look. I wasn't supposed to be interferring with the plan. Lydia nodded to Stiles. "We've heard that you can be bought."

Stiles slipped the backpack he had been carrying off his shoulder and emptied the contents onto the table. "It's 50,000 dollars for Derek," he explained, a smug smile forming on his lips.

Araya stood up, picking up a wad of bills, and suddenly, the atmosphere of the room changed. It felt menacing. The back of my neck prickled. "Now, where does a teenage boy get money like this?" Araya tapped her fingernails against the stack of cash, and a lump formed in my throat. "Japanese Mafia?"

I shot Stiles and Lydia an alarmed look just as I heard Severo and the other men re-enter the room and cock their guns at the back of our heads. Japanese Mafia? When in the world had the McCall pack stolen 50,000 dollars from the Japanese Mafia? And how were they not dead because of it? I continued to stare at Stiles and Lydia, wondering what I had _really_ gotten myself into.

"Not smart of you to come alone," Araya sighed, the smile on her face as dangerous as any one of the guns pointed at the back of my head. I could feel tension building in my shoulders, and my fingers itched for the gun tucked into my left boot. Or the knife wedge into my right one.

Stiles gave Araya a look that was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Maybe a bit of both. "What makes you think that we came alone?" The loaded question floated through the air, and realization dawned on the leader of the Calaveras. She held perfectly still.

"You brought a wolf into my home?" she asked quietly, but I could see the rage beneath the mask of calm.

My grin was all teeth, and I finally, for once, felt like I had the upper hand. I braced my hands on either side of the table and met Araya's eyes, this time without fear. "We brought an alpha."

There was dead silence for a moment, and nothing could be heard but the bone-rattling music outside the door and the heavy breathing of the people occupying the room. Araya met one of the guard's eyes, and he departed with one of the other Hunters.

"My friends..." Araya had quickly regained her composure and sighed deeply. "I don't think you're aware of your poor timing." She tapped the table with her fingernails again and sat down once more. "Do you know what the dark moon is?"

I shifted from foot to foot, weighing our options of escape. There was only one door, and a trained Hunter in front of us-it wasn't looking good. "The name of your club?" I asked in confusion.

Lydia rolled her eyes and gave me a disgusted look. "The part of the lunar phase when the moon is the least visible in the sky."

Araya's eyes were focused on me still, seeming far too interested to be healthy. "But do you know it's meaning?"

Lydia opened her mouth to say something else, but this time, I was the one to answer. "Some people say it's a time of reflection. Or grief." I knew what a dark moon meant. That was why I was so confused as to why the Calaveras had named their club 'The Dark Moon'.

Araya nodded, seeming briefly impressed. "Grief and loss, _mija. _I wonder why, when you and your new friends have suffered so much loss, you would risk even more pain for the likes of Derek Hale." Araya pursed her lips. "What do you gain from this rescue, Matilda? You know nothing of Derek Hale or the innocent lives he has destroyed." Something in me twisted-doubt. "How do you even stand beside these two-" she gestured to Stiles and Lydia- "knowing that they are the reason Allison Argent is dead?"

It felt like something had stabbed me in the chest. Araya's words were stirring doubt in me, making me question everything the McCall pack had told me thus far. I was afraid, and that fear bled into distrust. Because I had been raised on the words of Hunters, and the unfamiliarity of standing against one was really starting to get to me. But then I looked over at Red and Stiles, and I saw them through Allison's eyes. I saw them as they truly were, not the tainted image Araya was trying to shove down my throat. So what if Derek Hale had done terrible things? We all had, some time or another. I had done things that I would regret for the rest of my life. But it didn't mean people couldn't change. That I couldn't change...

I steeled myself and gave the Calavera woman a tight smile. "Because I realized that trust shouldn't be placed in what is familiar-it should be given to those who earn and deserve it." I stepped forward, in front of Stiles and Lydia, and crossed my arms of my chest. "And they haven't done anything to make me walk away yet."

Suddenly, there was a shrill noise from one of the Hunters walkie-talkies, and then Scott's voice, muffled and urgent, came through. "Stiles, take ten off the table."

Stiles immediately did as he was asked.

Lydia leaned forward, her perfectly manicured nails glinting in the dim sunlight. "Maybe you should take the deal," she suggested, a smug smile on her lips. Her hazel eyes glittered.

And then Araya laughed. It was a sound more chilling than all of her smiles and threats combined. "While I'm keen to follow the warning of a banshee, I'm going to have to decline."

Stiles flailed for a second, running his hands through his hair. "Aaah, come on. Just give us don't want him anyway." I raised my eyebrows. We all did. "Haven't you noticed what a downer he is? No humor, poor conversationalist." Stiles shoved the money closer in Araya's direction. "Just come on. Take the money."

Araya's smile was ice. She did not like being pushed. "Severo? Show them how the Calaveras negotiate."

Severo grinned and slammed the butt of his gun to Stiles' temple. I watched in horror as the Stilinski boy crumpled to the floor. Lydia screamed something out, but before I could even move, there was a white-hot pain on the side of my head. I fell to my knees, the world spinning sickeningly around me. I blinked and saw white and black. Lydia's image swam before my eyes, and so did Araya's satisfied smile. Then there was only darkness, and I briefly wondered if this was how I would die before conciousness was completely ripped from my grasp.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I woke up, my cheek was pressed to the floor of a bathroom. I groaned, feeling the back of my head with a wince. There was a huge knot already forming. I blinked a few times, and then Stiles' face swam into view. The grimy floor that I was lying on was being occupied by a few others. "She's awake," Stiles was telling someone behind him. My head was throbbing, and I tried to push myself into sitting position.

Scott was beside me, and Kira leaned over him, her face holding an infinite amount of worry. "Guys, he's awake too. He's awake." Scott grunted beside me, blinking several times.

I felt like I was going to be sick with the force of the gun slamming into my head. Stiles seemed alright, if not in pain, and Scott was continuing to groan as he rubbed his chest, muttering something about electrocution.

Stiles looked down at me and then over at his best friend. "Are you two alright?"

Scott pushed himself up suddenly, his chest straining against his dirt-smeared tanktop. "Yeah." He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. "They don't have him," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "They don't have Derek."

I gave a breathy, choked laugh. So all of this was for nothing after all. My eyes scannned the room. There were a few grimy sinks in the corner, followed by a toilet and urinal that looked like they may have never have been cleaned. The floor was dirt-covered and the walls were chipping several layers of cheap paint, adding to the overall disgusting atmosphere of the tiny room.

Kira's dark jacket was ripped at the sleeve, and one of her hands rested on the pulse on Scott's wrist. "We know," she told him quietly. "But right now, they've got Lydia."

My breath whooshed out of my lungs, and sure enough, when my eyes traced over the room again, there was no sign of Lydia Martin. Malia was at Stiles' side, wearing the same American flag cut-off shorts and a quarter-sleeve purple shirt as earlier, her dark eyes downcast. She sat close to Stiles, who had a pained expression on his face. Kira was solemn, and Scott-Scott looked so lost.

"Lydia? What do they want with Lydia?" he finally breathed.

Kira just shook her head helplessly, but I could see the answer in her eyes-she didn't know. No one did.

Anger boiled in my veins. I had just met Lydia, and I wasn't particularly fond of her, but I didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Araya was unpredictable, obviously-she had knocked me unconcious before I could even blink. Who knew what she would do to the banshee?

Scott stood and began to rattle the door knob, giving a frustrated snarl after a few minutes of tossing himself at the metal door. It could have been made out of titanium, for all we knew.

"We already looked for a way out," Kira said quietly, sounding defeated. There was something in her eyes-a deep kind of fear that I hadn't seen for a while. Her gaze fell to the floor. "I think a lot of people have."

There were dark spots on the cement, red-brown and spread in streaks by the door. My stomach churned at the sight of the dried blood. I had never been much for violence and blood, but as a Hunter, I had done what was necessary to hunt those who hunted us. Still, I had never gotten used to the sight of blood.

Malia was pacing the floor next to me, and I tried to stay out of the way of her savage energy. She still kind of freaked me out. I crouched and dug my hands down into my boots. Both my knife and gun were gone, of course. I fought the urge to curse and straightened back up, instantly deflating. "I say when that door opens again, we take out whoever's standing in the way and run for it," Malia said under her breath.

Kira blinked several times and tilted her head to the side. "What about Lydia?"

Malia stopped pacing, seeming perplexed by the question. Her thick eyebrows furrowed. "What about her?"

Scott shook his head and gave Malia a reprimanding look. "We're not leaving without her," he replied, tracing some grooves that were cut into the door.

Malia cocked her head, and the movement seemed much more animalistic when she did it. "Why not?" And suddenly, I wondered if the reason Malia was acting odd was because she wasn't used to interacting in a human setting. Had she spent most of her life as a werecoyote or something? Or in her family, was leaving behind a friend perfectly acceptable?

Stiles must have seen the horrified looks everyone was shooting the Tate girl, because he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Because we don't leave without people. Remember, we talked about this? The rules of the wild kingdom don't apply to friends."

My assumption seemed to be pretty spot-on. I guess Stiles had been tutoring Malia in everything human, because she relaxed into his touch and gave a small, non-lethal smile.

Kira pressed her back against one of the peeling walls and continued to stare at Malia. "Is that what you would do as a coyote, leave her for dead?" The words had a hysterical edge to them.

Malia pursed her lips and considered. "If she was weak and injured, yeah. If hunting were bad that season, I would eat her." Malia's answer was so blunt, her face so indescribably earnest. "Then I'd leave."

I snorted, then covered my mouth with my hand as Stiles winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Mmm. Believe it or not, that's progress."

Scott finally turned around from the door, and instead of looking exasperated like I expected, he had a determined set to his jaw. "All right, guys, we're not dead yet. And that means Araya wants something."

"There's a very good possiblility that they want me, now," I said quietly, picking at one of my chipped nails. I didn't meet anyone's eyes. "There is nothing worse than a Hunter betraying one of their own. They'll want to teach me a lesson. And then they'll kill me."

The silence was uncomfortable. Then Scott finally piped: "That might be the case, and we'll watch your back if it is. But it's also likely that they're looking for Derek like we are."

Kira frowned and played with the ends of her long raven-colored hair. "But if the Calaveras don't know where Derek is, if they're looking for him too, that means that they didn't take him from the loft. Right?" She looked more and more confused by the second.

Stiles scuffed his shoes against the concrete floor and rolled his head, shrugging a bit. "Maybe he left on his own."

Scott shook his head, tension in the lines of his mouth and the planes of his shoulders. "Maybe someone else got to him."

There was a moment of heavy silence, and then, all of a sudden, the metal door was thrown open, startling us all. Severo and two other Hunter men poured into the room, their shoulders squared and their faces void of emotion. Severo advanced on Scott, and before anyone could move, shoved an electric stick against his abdomen, shocking him repeatedly. My Hunter instincts kicked in. I lunged forward, wrecking into one of the guards, which sent him careening off balance for half a second. It was all I needed. I kicked the same man in the throat, adrenaline coursing through my veins as he fell to his knees, choking. The others were trying to swarm the door, but before things could get completely out of control, Severo dragged Scott's limp body out into the hallway, and the other guard grabbed me by the hair and dragged me after him, slamming the door shut behind us. The man I had kicked was still gasping on the ground, his eyes swimming with tears, and satisfaction sang in my blood.

Severo dragged Scott into a different room, one that we hadn't been in before. My breath ached when it left my lungs. "You little bitch," the man holding me hissed into my ear. I gave a faint laugh and spit on his shoes. Soon, Severo was tying Scott to a wooden chair with what looked like thick cord. As I was shoved down in the chair beside him and my arms were wrapped with the same material, it dawned on me that it was electric wiring. My smugness faded away into pure, undiluted fear. The Hunter that had been holding me grinned and spat in my face as retribution, making me cringe. I struggled, trying to find some way to slip free, but my bonds were too tight. Scott looked as helpless as I felt, his head lolling to the side as he tried to register his surroundings.

As if things couldn't get any worse, the door was flung open a second later, and Araya and Lydia stepped into the room. The man I had kicked was on his feet again, and he scowled at me with pure hatred as he tied Lydia up in a fashion similar to how Scott and I were tied.

Lydia began to breathe raggedly, her eyes darting all around the room. Araya seemed pleased to see me there. "Oh God," Lydia whispered, and the fear in her voice made me close my eyes. This wasn't going to end well.

After a few brief seconds of torture, Severo re-entered the room with Kira in tow. I didn't even remember him leaving, honestly. Kira's eyes were wild like Lydia's, and she strained away from the Calavera man, looking terrified.

Scott strained against the cords with all his might. His voice was desperate when he spoke. "Let her go. Look...you've got me. Just let the others go."

Severo pushed Kira over to a small dial panel in front of us. My blood ran cold. Severo's smile was as wicked as Araya's own. "Your hand goes here," he told the Yukimura girl, guiding her hand to the panel. "So, let me explain what's about to happen." His eyes raked up and down the row of us. "This one, the fox, has an immunity to electricity. So she's going to turn the dial on the alpha. If she doesn't..." Severo smirked. "I turn the dial on the traitor and the banshee."

Kira's face was filled with nothing but anguish. She shook her head and continued to shake her head, eyes welling with tears. I wanted to kill Severo for making her do this.

Severo narrowed his eyes, stepping closer into Kira's personal space. "I see. Are you sure?" Severo pushed back a strand of Kira's hair, making her shudder. "One of your friends has the ability to heal. The others? Not so much."

Scott snapped his teeth, eyes flashing. "What are you doing? Is this a game to you?"

Araya finally stepped out of the shadows, her hands folded in front of her. She was staring directly at Scott, her eyes full of something unidentifiable. "This is a test, _lobito_. Let's see if you pass." She stalked forward. "We're going to ask you some questions. You answer them, nobody gets hurt. You don't answer, we turn on the dial."

Scott heaved in a deep breath and caught Kira's eye. "Do what they say," he murmured. "Okay. Whatever they want. I can take it."

Kira bit her lip, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She looked away. I wanted my gun so I could shoot every one of the Hunters in this room right between the eyes.

Araya continued forward, slowly. "So..We don't know where Derek is. We want to find him as well." Araya's lip curled when she walked by me, and then she stopped in front of Scott. "You know who took him."

Scott's eyebrows pulled together and his mouth dropped open. Both Lydia and I exchanged confused looks. The music down the hall was the only sound we could hear for half a second. Then Scott choked out: "What? How would I know that?"

Araya's eyes grew hard, and she sniffed. "That doesn't sound like an answer to me."

Lydia squirmed nervously beside me, her eyes going from the dial to Araya. "We don't know. Why do you think we came here?"

"Kira, turn on the dial," Araya barked. Kira's fingers lingered on the dial, but she made no move to turn it. She was trembling. Araya whirled around, and her eyes were on fire, not just hard. "Should we turn the dial on Lydia instead? Or how about Matilda?"

Scott shook his head vigorously, looking wild. "No, no! Do it, Kira," he breathed, steeling himself. "Do it."

Araya's lips turned up in a satisfied smirk. "Let's start at one."

Kira, still trembling, obeyed the Hunter's instructions and looked away as Scott began to writhe and grunt in pain.

My heart was in my throat, pounding erratically.

Araya loomed in front of Scott as he hunched over. "Tell me! Who actually has Derek? Who had a reason, a vendetta particular to the Hales?"

Scott rolled his head to the side and looked up at her, panting. His black tanktop was soaked with sweat. "I said I don't know."

Araya's mouth twisted into a furious snarl, and she leaned down even closer. "Oh, you don't know because you haven't figured it out yet. So think! Who could have taken him?"

"Leave him alone!" I screamed into the silence, straining against the wire. It bit painfully into my wrists, but I didn't care. My hair fell around my shoulders in a disarray, strands pressed against my lips and my tongue. I was feeling murderous.

Severo glanced over at Kira. "_Tres,"_ he instructed. Kira switched the power up a notch and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to break. Electricity crackled along Scott's skin, making the hairs on my arms stand up because of the close proximity.

"It's okay," Scott finally gasped out when the aftershocks subsided. He didn't look like he was okay. Not at all.

"Who had the power? The power of a shapeshifter?" Araya grasped Scott by the chin for a second, staring into his eyes.

"I don't know."

"Oh! Someone who could have turned without you knowing. Turned, but not by a bite!"

Scott pulled his lips back from his teeth. "I don't know!"

Araya let go of Scott's face and gritted her teeth, real rage leaking into her expression. "_Diez! Diez!_" She shrieked. Kira refused to touch the dial again, so Araya took matters into her own hands. The dial at ten made the lights in the room flicker crazily.

Scott let out a blood-curdling scream and shifted, his red eyes and fangs making him look truly terrifying, and then I was babbling for them to stop, stop, they were killing him, please stop.

When the shocking stopped, Scott hung limply in his chair, completely human again, out of breath and nearly broken. His dark hair and his shirt were plastered to him with sweat, and his chest was heaving.

Araya crouched down in front of him, her eyes sharp as could be. "Say the name, Scott."

Scott tilted his head back, eyelids fluttering, and gritted out a name that I never thought I would hear again: "Kate."

My world stopped turning. Kate. Kate Argent. The woman who had been murdered by a werewolf, but who was a murderess herself. She hadn't followed a Code-she had been a wild card since she was young. But she had loved killing anything supernatural, and she would do away with anything in her way. Even humans. Chris had briefly told me her story in one of his letters.

I remembered Kate coming to visit Allison sometimes, and she had always like a big sister to her. Allison had looked up to Kate, doted on her, and in the end, Kate had betrayed her trust and tried to manipulate her. But then Kate's throat had been ripped out, and that was the end of it. Wasn't it? She had a grave right next to Allison. She didn't deserve to be alive, especially if her niece was gone forever.

"That's impossible," I whispered, my voice hoarse. Scott was staring down at the ground in what looked like abject horror. Lydia looked like she was going to be sick.

Araya clucked at my naivety. "Not impossible, _mija_. Not impossible, because it is true. And because it is true, Kate Argent needs to be found and done away with." Her dark eyes met mine. "You know how to hunt, and that will be of use to us."

She nodded to Severo, and the man stepped forward and cut the ties that were around each of our wrists. We all sat there, uncomprehending. Araya gave a small nod of her head. "Follow me out the back door, all of you. Fernando and Juan will retrieve your friends."

We were all in shock. Severo ushered us along, trying to keep us out of the sight of the club-goers. We followed Araya quietly, convinced that this was some terrible trick. Until, of course, we stepped outside into the warm Mexican evening. We were behind the club in a discreet corner, surrounded by garbage cans and brightly colored banners hanging from the building. Before we could even gather our wits, Stiles and Malia were being pushed outside to stand next to us in our broken, make-shift little group.

Scott pushed his damp hair off his forehead and offered Araya a wary look. "So...you're just letting us go?"

Araya tilted her head to the side, sizing up the McCall boy. Then she told him the truth. "I sent four men out to where Kate was rumored to have been seen." She gave a little sigh in faux-regret. "None of them have come back. Let's see if you can do better."

My eyes widened. So Araya essentially wanted to send us on a suicide mission. Fantastic. My heart was galloping in my chest. "You could have just told me she was alive," Scott informed her quietly.

Araya chuckled and folded her hands in front of her. "You wouldn't have believed me. Now I know what kind of alpha you are. And where your next step lies."

Scott's fingers curled and uncurled. A tremor rocked through his body-he was still feeling aftershocks. I was seeing red. Araya had tortured him to make a point. "What next step?" Scott asked lowly. Araya motioned Scott to step off to the side for a second, speaking to him quietly and privately.

When they rejoined the group, Araya's smile made my skin crawl. Her eyes remained on Scott. "When you take the bite of an innocent, when you make a wolf of your own, when you do that, then, I will cross your border and come knocking at your door."

The older woman gave each of us a nod and then retreated into the club, followed by both Juan and Fernando. Severo lingered for a split second longer, long enough to lean forward into my personal space and shove both my gun and my knife back into my hands. And to whisper: "You will pay for your mistakes, Lovec. If we do not come to you when this is over, others will. And then you will regret choosing these creatures over your own."

Bile crept up into my throat as I watched Severo step back inside. My stomach was churning sickeningly as I shoved my weapons back into my boots, trying to stop my hands from shaking. That wasn't a light threat-the Calaveras were always to be taken seriously. They would warn others of my betrayal and possible put a bounty on my head. The mercenaries would love that-they had no problems getting their hands dirty.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and turned to face the others, who were all in various states of shock and disarray. Stiles was the first to snap out of it. "So what now?" he questioned, his fingers twitching and moving from his shirt to a loose thread on his jeans.

Scott pursed his lips and looked over to where back alley lead out to the street. He nodded for us to follow him, and we did so without question. "She thinks she knows where we can find Derek."

I raised an eyebrow and had an urge to reach for my gun. The sun would be setting soon, and I didn't have any urge to be unprepared at night, especially after what we had just went through. I wanted to be able to protect the McCall pack. They had been Allison's friends-her family. And I hadn't done much in Mexico besides get threatened, get knocked unconcious, and scream. Very helpful.

Malia seemed annoyed by Scott's vague answer. "She gonna tell us where we can find him?"

Scott tucked his hands into his jeans and looked out at the road, his eyes tracing something in the distance. "Uh, actually, she's giving us a guide."

My eyes followed Scott's gaze until I saw exactly what he was looking at. A sleek black motorcycle was roaring down the road in our direction, kicking up the yellowish, sandy dirt from the ground and spewing it into the air. It only took a few seconds for the bike to pull up, snarling in all of its polished glory, and the driver, who was wearing all leather, to remove her helmet. Shiny black hair spilled onto her shoulders, and squinting, I was able to make out sun-kissed brown skin and eyes the color maple from where I stood, paired with a smirk that was familiar and three jagged white scars cutting across her throat that weren't.

I blinked in surprise, my mouth opening slightly.

Stiles looked from Scott to me, his mouth pulled into a taut line. "You know her?" he asked both of us.

"Braeden," I said softly. I didn't ask how Scott knew her. There probably wasn't a good story behind it, if I wanted to be honest. I remembered Braeden coming to my parents when they needed something particularly nasty taken care of. When they didn't want to get their hands dirty. She was the best at what she did, and when I was younger, I had actually believed she had some morals and standards. But from what I now knew of mercenaries, that seemed very unlikely.

"Who's Braeden?" Malia asked loudly, with very little tact. She was eyeing the new arrival warily.

Red frowned, her eyes narrowing close to slits. "She's a mercenary," she replied, and the response held a fair amount of contempt.

Braeden didn't seem affected. But then again, she never did. She was always calm and smug, self-assured. The smirk on her face turned into something a little too dangerous for my liking. "Right now, I'm the only one who's going to take you to _la iglesia."_

"The Church?" I asked, my voice hoarse. Braeden's eyes turned on me, and recognition flared in them. Then she looked to each member of Scott's pack and then back to me, something like surprise rearranging her features briefly.

Braeden placed her arms on the handle bars of her bike and leaned forward slightly, shaking her head. "Well, I'll be damned. Tilly Lovec, alive and in the flesh. And with the McCall pack, no less." Her stare was questioning, but no questions left her mouth. Braeden wasn't stupid. "Your parents have been telling everyone that you're at some elite boarding school. Thank God that's a lie-the would have sucked the life right out of you."

"Exactly." I kept my voice cool and detached. Everyone's eyes were on me, and when the silence stretched on uncomfortably, Stiles took over the conversation, clearing his throat.

"So what's The Church?"

Braeden looked over at him, a grim smile now stretching over her lips. "It's not a place where you'll find God."

A chill shot down my spine. Braeden gestured to Stiles' Jeep and my Camaro, letting us know the conversation was over. We had work to do.

Braeden put her helmet on and revved the engine impatiently as we walked. Malia, her arms tucked around her torso and her eyes hooded in the fading sunlight, finally looked up and said: "Okay, I'll ask. Who's Kate Argent?"

Something shuddered inside of me. _I saw Allison's dark hair_ _billowing up around her as we drove along in the convertible-a dirty-blonde haired_ _woman was behind the wheel singing obnoxiously loud. I sat wedged between both of them, enjoying the summer heat and the wind rushing in my ears. Music pounded from the stereo of Kate's car and Allison was laughing and laughing..."Do you feel alive yet?" Kate yelled over the bass, and in that moment, I felt more alive than I ever had before..._

I came back to myself when I heard Kira timidly add, "Uh,  
>I'd like to know, too."<p>

Stiles leaned against the Jeep and ran his hands down the length of his face. "Well, we were at her funeral. So, I'd like to know how she got out of a casket that was buried six feet underground." There was still disbelief in his eyes.

Scott shaded his eyes against the setting sun and shook his head slowly. "She was never in it."

My heart dropped to somewhere in my toes as Lydia sniffed, looking off into the distance. Braeden didn't seem like she was enjoying waiting for us. "She was Allison's aunt. And a total sociopath," Red clarified, starting to climb into the backseat of the Jeep.

Scott seemed uncomfortable. In fact, everyone tensed at the mention of Allison's name. "You don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to," Kira said quickly, twisting a strand of her glossy hair around her finger nervously. She knawed on her bottom lip. Malia slid into the front seat of the Jeep and let out a disgruntled noise.

"Um, yes, he does." That was all I needed to confirm that her social skills were lacking more than mine.

"Well, I'm...going to get in my car and start driving. Because any longer of Braeden staring like that is going to make me spontaneously combust." I gave everyone a little half wave and jogged over to the Camaro, sighing a bit as I sank into the leather driver's seat. It felt like I was home, in my car. Everything that had just happened seemed to fade away for a brief second until...Someone opened the passenger door.

I blinked in surprise when Kira climbed into the back and Scott slid into the seat beside me, both of them wearing apologetic smiles. "It was getting a bit cramped in there," Kira admitted. "Is it all right if we ride with you?"

_No, _I wanted to say. _I need my alone time because I'm not good with people. I'm good at being a Hunter. I'm good at doing what I'm told. I'm good at being a protector. But interacting with people is exhausting and I need some time alone now, thanks._ In reality, I put on a plastic smile and said: "Sure."

I did not roll down the windows when we pulled out, following Stiles, who was following Braeden. I did, however, turn on the air conditioning, because the humid Mexican air felt like it was trapped inside my lungs. The only noise for a few minutes was the hum of the Camaro's engine and the wind scraping the roof of the car-none of said a word.

Until Scott did. He was looking out the window, but then he turned and looked back at Kira, his mouth a thin line and his brown eyes soft. "Malia's right. You should know. You need to know."

I swallowed hard and tried to keep my eyes on the road, even though I felt Scott's gaze flicker to me. The leather was hot against my back, and suddenly I felt claustrophobic. I pretended like I didn't, my fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip.

"How much do you know, Tilly?" Scott asked me. The exact question that I had no desire to answer.

I didn't let my eyes leave the road. "Some, but not all of it. I still don't understand most of it."

I saw Scott nod slightly in my peripheral vision. "Okay. Well, you know that Kate is the one that set the fire that killed most of Derek's family."

Swallowing, I gave a wooden nod. I hated fire. As a child, I'd had a terrible phobia of it, much like people had a phobia of drowning. There had been a recurring dream that haunted me for years, of flames dancing and engulfing, eating through wood like it was nothing, the heat searing my face... I tried to shake the image from my mind.

"Some of them survived, like Derek's uncle, Peter, and his younger sister Cora." Scott tangled his fingers in his hair. "Peter was the one who bit and turned me," he told me quietly.

I hadn't known that. "Wasn't he the one who killed Kate?" I asked, my voice still hoarse from screaming earlier.

Scott nodded. "Yes. And we thought she was dead. Like Stiles said, we thought we saw her get buried." I glanced into the rearview mirror to see Kira's reaction. Her mouth was in the shape of an 'o', and she looked riveted. "But we just saw a casket," Scott continued quietly. "Kate wasn't in it. Araya, when she pulled me aside...she told me what really happened. The Calaveras heard that Kate had been killed by an alpha's claws. They wanted to make sure she was really dead."

Suddenly, I could see it-Kate's body lying prone in a morgue, her throat slashed and her skin waxy and white. I glanced over at Scott. "She was healing," he revealed. "More and more, as she got closer to a full moon. She was coming back. So they switched out the bodies."

"Why?" Kira asked from the back, her voice breathy.

My voice was tight when I answered her. "Because if a Hunter is bit, they have to take their own life before they change." It was one of our most sacred rules. "The Calaveras, they treat the Code like law. They make it their responsibility to enforce it." A bitter smile came to my lips. "That's why they let us go-we technically weren't harming anyone, and they had no right to kill us. Expect for me, since I'm a traitor. They could have easily killed me, but I think they weren't looking to anger the Lovec family at such an inconvenient time."

Scott nodded. "Makes sense." He glanced away again. "Kate killed dozens of people to get away from the Calaveras. She used the change to her advantage, and she discarded the Code completely."

"So Kate's a werewolf now?" Kira inquired, her face washed in the dying light of the sun. The rays were just barely peeking out from above the horizon now.

Scott seemed to consider, but the set of his mouth seemed to suggest he thought differently. "I don't know." He glanced over at me, then, and said: "You know, there's a saying, sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are."

I nodded. I had heard that somewhere before, but I couldn't remember where.

Suddenly, the Jeep, which had been rolling along at a steady pace in front of us, veered to the side of the road. I slammed on the brakes and grinded gears because I shifted so quickly, and the Z28 screeched to a halt just inches from the Jeep's bumper. My heart thundered in my ears, and my hands were shaking slightly. Scott and Kira looked as freaked out as I felt. "What the hell was that?" I finally gasped, the curse feeling odd on my tongue. I rarely ever cussed, but this seemed like an appropriate situation to throw my usual out the window. Scott threw open his door and got out of the car, and then Kira pushed the passenger seat up and followed him.

I stayed in the car for another heartbeat and tried to catch my breath. Then I finally flung open my door and trailed after Scott and Kira. Braedon had already hopped off her motorcycle and was walking around to the side of the Jeep. "What happened?" she asked, a frown tugging at here lips. Her helmet was tucked under one arm.

Stiles had already jumped out of the vehicle, along with both Malia and Lydia, and his expression was one of pure frustration. "I don't know," he muttered. "It felt like we hit something."

Braeden glanced up at the sky, and her frown deepened. "Scott, we need to get there by night. It's too dangerous otherwise."

There was a beat of silence, and then Stiles met his best friend's eyes and jerked a thumb toward the motorcycle. "Go."

Scott immediately blanched, his face paling. "Not without you."

Stiles tapped out a beat on the hood of his Jeep, aware that everyone was watching him. Finally, he gave Scott an exasperated but serious look. "Dude, someone needs to find Derek. We'll figure something out. We always do. Just go."

There was a moment, a split second, in which I thought Scott was going to argue. But then he took in the look on Stiles' face, Braeden impatiently shifting toward her bike, and Lydia's arched eyebrows. And he sighed deeply, shoulders sagging in defeat. "Okay."

Braeden nodded her approval and sashayed back to her motorcycle, letting the metal creature roar to life under her hands. Kira pulled Scott to the side for a second, no doubt to talk to him privately, so I ducked my head and moved away from the two so they could have some privacy. Stiles was standing beside Malia, their shoulders brushing familiarly, and Lydia was leaning against the Jeep with an annoyed look on her face. I made a stupid decision and settled next to her. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I saw her obvious dislike and distrust of me. To be honest, I guess I couldn't really blame her. Allison had been her best friend, too, and I knew things about her life before Beacon Hills. Things that Allison may have never told Lydia, by the looks of it. But on the flip side, Lydia had known Allison the Hunter. Allison Argent, the girl who didn't need protecting, who was forged from silver and wielded a bow and arrow with scary accuracy. She had been there when Allison had died. And I hadn't.

"Did she still hate sushi?" I asked, angling my body to face Lydia. She blinked at me slowly, as though I was speaking a different language. "She always hated it when we were kids," I continued weakly, my voice soft. "Said fishy food was for-"

"The fish," Lydia finished, staring at me outright now. If I didn't know better, I would have said the side of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Was she always so good with people?" she asked me.

The question made tears prick in my eyes. "Oh, always. Everyone loved her. She was sort of shy at first, but once she warmed up to you-everyone flocked around her, even when we were small. I think that's why we were so good for each other, you know? Allison was everything I wanted to be." My smile was soft. I dropped my gaze. "I miss her."

And it might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard Lydia whisper: "Me too."

But then Braeden yelled: "Scott, the sun is going down!", and whatever moment Lydia and I had been having was broken. Her bitchy mask slid back into place, and I looked at Scott and Kira hugging instead of meeting Red's once-again steely gaze. Scott climbed onto Braeden's motorcycle a second later, and then they were roaring off into the sunset, dust rising up behind them as they went.

It wasn't even a moment later that Malia poked her head over the hood of the Jeep, holding something in her hands. "Stiles." She held up the object to the Stilinski boy, and he took it, lips parting in surprise. The thing looked like a claw, long and razor-sharp-an ivory bone sharpened to lethal perfection. "I don't think we hit something. I think something hit us."

Those words made my throat constrict. Something about this situation seemed oddly familiar-then again, it seemed like I was always around during near-death incidents. The sun was scraping the road now, casting ominous shadows across the asphalt and painting the ground blood-red. There wasn't much time at all before complete nightfall. I cast a wary look around at the rolling hills to our left and right, each covered by sparse brown grass that swayed in the cooling evening breeze. Lydia pushed off the side of the Jeep and walked over to Stiles, her expression as wary as mine. "Maybe we should just walk," she suggested. "Or take Tilly's hideously painted car."

"It's not hideous," I immediately defended, eyes narrowing a bit. "And it's too tiny to hold four people, really, let alone five. If Stiles can fix the Jeep quickly, fine. If not-we can walk, I guess, so no one is left behind."

Stiles looked up from where he was screwing around under the hood of the vehicle, offended. "Hey, I will never abandon this Jeep. You understand me? Ever. Ever. Ever."

Lydia and I rolled our eyes simultaneously, and both Kira and I both smothered a grin. Stiles' melodramatics were ridiculous but mildly entertaining.

Malia wasn't laughing, though. She cocked her head to the side and then scanned the perimeter. If she had hackles in human form, they would have been raised. "Work faster, Stiles," she growled, her eyes flashing electric blue. "There's something out here with us."

That was enough for me. My smile melted right off my face, and I instantly went for my Glock. It was dark now, really and truly dark, and adrenaline and fear were racing through my veins. It was hard in that moment to tell which was dominating. I still had the safety on, but if I saw any movement, it was coming off in an instant. My blood was singing with a need to kill whatever was lurking around us. I was a Hunter-I was not the hunted.

Kira drew her katana, and the timid girl that I had met earlier morphed into a seasoned warrior. I was impressed.

In the time that I had been staring off into the oncoming darkness, Stiles had handed Lydia a flashlight and directed her to hold it over the Jeep so he could see what he was doing. Their squabbling was what made Malia, Kira, and I turn around. "Lydia, could you please hold the light still for a second? It's really hard to see anything if you're shaking it like that," Stiles remarked through gritted teeth, arm deep in car parts.

Lydia let out a tiny huff. Her hands were, in fact, shaking. "I'm shaking like this because we're in the middle of nowhere with your broken down Jeep and we're being attacked by yet another razor-clawed monster." The haughty expression that she had been wearing earlier had been wiped cleanly away. There was now something haunted in her eyes as her chin wobbled. "And I'm terrified."

Stiles seemed too frustrated with what he was doing to really find any sympathy for her. "Well, just be slightly less terrified. And hold this." He dumped a piece of the engine into her waiting hands.

She squinted down at it. "What's this?"

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know. I'm hoping it's not that important."

"That would be the starter," I answered right away, coming closer to get a better look. "Yeah, definitely the starter."

Stiles shot me a sheepish look.

"You'll definitely need that. Put it back where you found it, okay?"

There was movement from behind me, and I whirled around, raising my gun and clicking off the safety. Malia and Kira crept forward, and then we were standing in a row in front of the Jeep, illuminated by nothing but the headlights.

"Anything?" Kira asked, hushed, the blade of her katana glinting in the dim light.

I shook my head no and Malia shook her head as well, seeming antsy. "It's too hard to see. We should have brought another flashlight," she grunted, shifting from foot to foot.

Adrenaline was still pounding through me, heightening my senses. Maybe that's why when Kira asked 'Did you see that?' as a shadow crept over one of the hills, briefly lit up by the light shining off her katana, I breathed back 'Yes'.

Malia, on her other hand, had no use for words. Her eyes went solidly electric blue, and she growled and took off after the creature faster than I could blink, a flash of golden brown hair and a purple shirt.

Kira's mouth was open as she surged forward. "Malia, wait!"

Stiles dropped whatever he was doing and ran to meet us where we stood, his eyes wild as he searched the darkness for the werecoyote. "Hey, Malia!" His voice was choked. Desperate.

Lydia stomped over to us, terror and anger mixed into an indistinguishable look on her face. "Kira, Tilly, go!" She grabbed Stiles' arm and dragged him back over to the Jeep, positioning the flashlight over the engine once more. The light rendered her face stark and other-worldly. "Fix the Jeep." She snapped her fingers in front of the Stilinski boy's face when he still didn't respond. "Stiles, focus!"

I ran after Kira up one of the hills to our left, roughly in the same area Malia had run toward. "Kira?" I leveled my gun in front of me, my heart pounding hard against my ribs. I was breathing heavily. There was a noise to my right, a creaking groan that was decidedly not Kira, and I fired off two shots without even thinking. The thing crashed somewhere behind me, and I whirled, about to shoot again-and was met by the tip of a katana blade. Kira's eyes were wide in the darkness, and she dropped her sword to her side as soon as she saw it was only me. I let my gun fall to my side as well.

Then there were footsteps to our far left, and we both raised our weapons without hesitation, ready to strike. "It's me!" Malia held up her hands, breathing raggedly. She looked as feral as ever. "Uh, it's me, it's me."

Kira's voice was choked. "What happened?"

"What's out there?" I asked quietly, clicking the safety back on. Whatever had been there a moment before was gone now.

Malia shook her head as we all started to walk back down the hill, our feet sliding across the gritty dirt. We were all visibly shaken in the glow of the headlights. "I don't know," Malia answered truthfully. "But it is big and fast. And it cuts deep."

Suddenly, the deafening silence was cut through by the Jeep's engine puttering back to life.

"Thank God," I muttered under my breath. I was ready to get Derek and get out of Mexico as soon as possible.

We all jogged back to the Jeep, feet thudding against the ground as we picked up speed. Stiles was just slamming the hood shut when we ambled over. He saw Malia first and gave a sigh of relief, something that didn't go unnoticed by Kira, Lydia, and I. "Are we good to go?" I asked, breathless, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the Camaro. Whatever had been lurking could easily come back.

"I hope we're good to go," Kira said in a rush, shoving her katana back into its sheath. Stiles nodded his assent, and then Kira and I headed for the Camaro while Malia, Lydia, and Stiles piled into the Jeep. With the problem now solved, Stiles put the Jeep into drive and I followed him down the straight-stretch, still shaking slightly from our odd encounter.

As we were about to drive up and over a hill, Kira broke the silence. "Did you see that cut on Malia's side? It seemed pretty deep." I glanced over at her. She was scarily pale and didn't look too great herself.

"I didn't see anything. She should heal, though, right?" I asked, suddenly worried. I didn't really know how the whole werecoyote thing worked. Did they heal the same was werewolves?

Kira nodded. "Yeah, she should. She should be fine." She sank back against the leather seat and squeezed her eyes shut. "Wow. That was crazy."

I gave a tiny snort at the understatement. "There was something off about...that creature. It didn't feel right."

"Besides the trying-to-kill-us part?" Kira asked lightly, a small smile on her lips.

I tilted my head to the side. "It was an odd feeling. It-it didn't feel like something _alive_, you know?" Kira was quiet, and she was no longer smiling. "I've been around a lot of death, and the absence of life...it's really particular. And that creature? That's what it felt like."

We were quiet again until we came to the edge of the road we were driving on. I put the Camaro into park and climbed out, looking over the huge hill into the darkness. There were two towers that stood out starkly against the sky, attached to a bleached white building that looked out of place in the middle of the desert. It was surrounded by a ghost town. "_La Iglesia_," I murmured, startled and awed now that we were actually here.

Stiles stuck his head out the Jeep window. "We're driving down on the dirt path!" he called, squinting at us. "Are you going to follow?"

Why not? My car was already caked in dirt and dust. I shouted back that I was and climbed back into the Camaro, following Stiles down the treacherously steep and completely unsafe dirt path that lead to the church. Kira was clinging to the door for dear life, her pupils blown wide. I kept a safe distance from Stiles, not wanting to have a repeat of our incident earlier. My teeth knocked together when the Camaro hit hole after hole, and I started to really regret agreeing to drive my car down.

I hadn't thought if I would be able to get back up or not. I gave an exasperated sigh and pushed forward, knowing there was no use turning back now.

The church was even more impressive up close, if not a bit spooky. There were designs carved into the bleached walls, but it was too dark to make out most of them. Instead, I looked up at the two towers and the massive stone archway that beckoned for me to enter the chapel. I refrained, unease knawing at my insides. Stiles parked the Jeep right in front of the church, hopping out immediately. Lydia was right on his heels, and it didn't take me long to figure out why-Scott and Braeden were coming through the stone archway, a nearly-limp form being dragged between them.

Relief flooded through me. So that dark head belonged to Derek Hale. He was alive after all. Kira and I ran to catch up with Malia, who was now nudging her way closer to Stiles and Lydia. The two looked shocked, and Scott and Braeden both looked equally as shocked and...grim? Something was wrong, I could tell, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was.

"Is that him?" Malia asked breathless, staring down at the sagging figure. "Is that Derek?"

Stiles' brown eyes were wide, so wide, as they stared down at the person Scott and Braeden held between them. "Uh, sort of," Stiles replied faintly.

And then the boy looked up. He was just that, too-a boy no more than fifteen, his green eyes unfocused and his dark hair tousled. There was something like fear etched on ever inch of his face, and the wrongness of the image immediately assaulted me. Derek Hale was supposed to be older, wasn't he? Younger than Kate but older than a high schooler. Except for this boy wasn't. He was younger than me.

I blinked slowly and tried to put the pieces together unsuccessfully, and the only thought that kept running through my head the whole time was: _Something is terribly wrong._

**Hello, my gorgeous, wonderful readers. This chapter is brought to you by my sudden, compelling urge to write more than I have in a long, long time! For you guys, because you are all amazing and do not deserve the torturous wait for updates. Anyway, I just want to say a big thank you to all of you, even if you don't review-knowing someone is reading my work is honestly enough to make me very, very happy! But also, if you would like to review, go right ahead! I appreciate the feedback. What do you like about Tilly? Dislike about Tilly? Soon you'll find out a lot more about her past, and find that not ALL of it was centered around Allison. Anyway, thank you again for all your support!**

**All the love,**

**Harley xxx**


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